Not a Marrying Man. Miranda LeeЧитать онлайн книгу.
chain into place before turning his attention back to his understandably upset girlfriend.
How exquisitely beautiful she looked in that glorious pink dress! Beautiful and desirable. Not that it was a sexy garment, by any means. There was no provocative décolletage on display. The neckline was modestly scooped, and the simple flowing style skimmed rather than clung to her curves, the handkerchief hemline reaching down past her knees.
But never before had a girl turned Warwick on the way Amber could—so damned effortlessly. She didn’t have to flirt, or do any of the boldly seductive things his previous women had done. She only had to be in the same room and his hormones jumped to attention.
Suddenly, Warwick wasn’t sure if he could continue with the plan he’d started putting into action recently, the one where he showed himself to be the ruthless man he actually was. Much easier to give up on that idea—however perversely noble it was—apologise profusely for being late and do what his body was urging him to do: ravish her all night long.
The temptation was powerful. But so—as Warwick kept discovering to his surprise—was his conscience. For some time now it had troubled him deeply. Thanks to that wretched aunt of Amber’s.
Of course, he himself had known right from the start that it had been wrong to take a girl like Amber to his bed. She’d been too young, too sweet and too sensitive.
But he just hadn’t been able to resist her. The chemistry between them had been electric, right from the first moment they’d set eyes on each other.
Just one night, he’d told himself at the time. To see how it would feel to make love to someone wholesome. Someone who blushed when you looked deep into her eyes; someone whose attraction for him shocked her enough to make her resign.
Well, he’d found out what it was like and, come the next morning, he hadn’t been able to let her go.
But now the time had come for him to do so.
Time to be cruel to be kind.
‘Please don’t start sounding like a wife, Amber,’ he said coldly as he strode into the room, loosening his tie and undoing the top button of his shirt as he headed for the built-in bar in the corner. ‘I texted you that I’d be late,’ he threw at her after selecting a glass and reaching for the whisky decanter. ‘For pity’s sake, woman, don’t nag.’
‘I … I don’t think it’s nagging to demand politeness,’ she returned in a small, almost crushed voice.
He should not have glanced up at her, not then. Not when her soft blue eyes looked so wounded.
Hell on earth, he couldn’t do this. Not tonight. That would be just too cruel.
‘You’re right,’ he said more gently. ‘Sorry, sweetheart. I’m a bit wound up. Had to sort out a few problems with one of the building contractors. That’s who I was with all this time,’ he lied. He’d actually been sitting in a bar in town all by himself, nursing a whisky for two long hours till he was rudely late. ‘What say I go shower and change into something more comfortable whilst you rustle up dinner?’ he suggested. ‘It’s not spoiled, is it?’
‘No.’ Immediately, her dulled eyes glowed with happiness, sending a dagger of guilt plunging into his own wretchedly dark heart.
Oh, Warwick, Warwick, he thought almost despairingly. How are you going to get yourself out of this mess? The girl loves you. Can’t you see that?
Yes, of course I can see it, came a frustrated voice from within.
It wasn’t the first time this realisation had jumped into Warwick’s head. That day he’d gone bunjee-jumping, for instance, when the damned rope had gone awry and he hadn’t been killed. More was the pity. Amber’s feelings had been written all over her face. She’d been trembling with shock and relief when he was brought back up, unharmed.
Unfortunately, being loved the way Amber loved him—with such sweet sincerity—was as powerful as the most addictive drug. Giving up the way she made him feel was going to take a massive act of will, one that Warwick didn’t think he was capable of this evening. Knowing she wanted him to make love to her after dinner was weakening his resolve to end their relationship.
Maybe it was time to tell her the truth about himself, to force Amber to face the fact that there was no future with him.
Could he do that? Should he?
Unfortunately, revealing his genetic flaw and all its appalling inevitabilities might not bring about the desired result. If Warwick had learned one thing about Amber’s character during the last ten months, it was that she was as compassionate as she was passionate. She would become visibly upset whenever she saw those ads about poor starving children, and could only be soothed when he promised to make regular donations to whatever charity was canvassing for help. Stories about neglected animals inevitably brought similar distress, as did reports on the news about more bombs killing innocent women and children in war-torn countries. Warwick had taken to putting a box of tissues at the ready by the sofa to mop up her tears.
Finding out what awaited her lover in the future might send her running, not in the other direction, but right into his arms.
It was a risk Warwick decided he could not take. He would have to find some other way to end their relationship.
‘Is that your glass of wine over there?’ He nodded towards the nearly full glass that was sitting on the side table next to the box of tissues.
‘Oh, yes, it is. I was having a drink earlier when I was waiting for you to come home.’
Another stab of guilt. Still, he was here now.
‘Bet I can guess what it is,’ he said. ‘A Sauvignon Blanc from the Marlborough region.’
She smiled as she walked over to pick up the glass. ‘You know me too well.’
Yes, he thought as he dropped a few cubes of ice in his glass then slurped in some whisky. I do. And you deserve better than me. You deserve a man who’ll marry you, give you children and grow old with you.
I can’t do any of those things.
Warwick scowled as he lifted the glass to his lips, irritated suddenly by his maudlin thoughts. What good did they do? He’d always been a realist, and the reality of his life was that he couldn’t offer Amber any more than he’d originally offered her.
But damn it all, surely the time she’d spent living with him hadn’t been totally wasted. She’d travelled a lot and learned a lot. She’d socialised with some of the world’s most successful people, been dressed by the world’s most fashionable designers, stayed in the world’s most luxurious resorts.
Some women would kill for what Amber had experienced during these past ten months.
Unfortunately, Amber wasn’t one of those women. Warwick knew she didn’t give a fig about any of those things. All she wanted was his love and his ring on her finger.
Not that she’d told him so. Not once.
Her aunt Kate had told him, last Easter at a family barbecue at her home that Amber had dragged him along to.
What an old tartar she’d been. But she’d obviously loved her niece and wanted to see her happy.
‘You do realise,’ Kate had snapped at him when Amber had left them to go to the bathroom, ‘that Amber was practically engaged when she met you. To a perfectly nice boy who would have given her the only things she’s wanted since she was knee high to a grasshopper: a loving husband and a family of her own. Two things you’ll never give her, Warwick Kincaid.’
The old dragon probably could have said a lot more but didn’t get the opportunity.
‘Shame on you,’ she’d hissed under her breath as Amber had walked back towards them.
That had been three months ago. Warwick hadn’t told Amber what her aunt had said. Hadn’t asked her about